One thing Del knew for certain about his life over the past few days—it was never boring. Yet, as he surveyed the frozen world around him, unease curled in his chest.

‘What the hell is going on now?’

He rose slowly, his joints stiff from sitting too long by the campfire. Elara sat perfectly still, her hand hovering mid-stroke over Misty’s fur. The elf’s face remained frozen in serene contemplation, her eyes locked on the ginger cat as though the moment had been plucked from time. Misty, however, was anything but frozen. The cat slipped from beneath Elara’s hand with a flick of her tail, padding silently across the dirt before fixing Del with a quizzical gaze.

“What do you want me to say, girl?” he muttered, feeling the absurdity of talking to her. “I’ve got no idea either.”

Misty’s head tilted, as though she understood the words. She turned back to Elara, sniffed delicately at her motionless fingers, then settled a piercing look on Del. Before he could process the unsettling intelligence behind those amber eyes, a small cough from behind nearly scared him out of his skin.

Del whirled around, instinctively drawing his sword, the sound sharp in the unnatural stillness. Standing there, immaculate in her crisp business suit as if she’d just stepped out of a boardroom, was Menolly.

“What the goddamn hell are you doing here?” Del demanded, his voice sharp with tension. He waved his free hand toward the eerie tableau of the frozen campsite. “And what is this?” His raised sword caught the light of the halted flames, glinting like a silent warning.

Menolly leaned back slightly, eyeing the blade with a raised brow. Her composure remained infuriatingly intact.

Del followed her gaze, realising he was still brandishing the weapon like an idiot. “Oh, yeah,” he muttered, sliding the sword back into its sheath. “You made me jump.”

“May I sit?” she asked, unperturbed. Before Del could respond, a plain wooden chair materialised behind her with a faint pop. She settled onto it gracefully, as if such conjurations were the most natural thing in the world.

Del blinked at the chair, then at her.

‘Sure, why not? The laws of reality are clearly on holiday today.

He sighed and looked toward the log he’d been sitting on moments ago, then at her chair.

“Go’ ahead, sit. Do your thing.”

Del lowered himself onto the log, his muscles stiff with tension, every instinct on high alert. His eyes darted to Elara, frozen mid-motion, her hand hovering in mid-air as though caught in the act of an unfinished thought. Looking like an eerily lifelike statue, carved in the middle of some mundane moment.

Misty, ever curious, padded silently across the campsite, her tail twitching. For a moment, the ginger cat paused in front of Menolly, her sharp eyes narrowing as though appraising the woman. Menolly offered no reaction. Misty sniffed the air, then flicked her tail dismissively and settled on the ground a short distance away, grooming herself with deliberate disinterest.

Del’s gaze shifted, catching on the flies suspended above the goblin corpses, their tiny bodies frozen mid-buzz. The unnatural stillness of it all made his skin crawl, as if the entire world had been trapped in some cruel, glassy limbo. Everything about the scene felt wrong—too sharp, too vivid, like a dream teetering on the edge of a nightmare.

His breath hitched as he forced himself to look away. The tension in his chest loosened slightly when his eyes met Menolly’s calm, steady gaze.

‘At least she moves like a normal person,’ he thought bitterly.

“Alright,” he said, breaking the silence and motioning toward her with an exaggerated sweep of his hand. “What’s all this about, then? You’ve got my attention. Start explaining.”

Menolly’s gaze swept across the campsite, lingering briefly on the dead goblins and then on Elara. Her serene demeanour seemed incongruous with the bloodied, frozen reality surrounding them.

“This,” she said, her voice calm and even, “is the beginning of your first major cuvat according to the Overmind. It was decided that delivering the details in person would be... clearer than a system message.” Her words carried that same unyielding authority he’d heard before, though softened by an undercurrent of patience. “And so, here I am.”

Del raised a brow. “Fair enough, but was the theatrical freezing of the world really necessary? I mean—” he gestured again, sweeping toward the frozen tableau, “—this is all a bit much, don’t you think?”

Menolly’s head tilted slightly, her expression remaining composed. “You have been stepped outside time before, so the situation is not entirely unfamiliar to you. As for my appearance, it was deemed the most efficient means of avoiding disruption.”

Del snorted. “Efficient. Right.” His tone dripped with sarcasm. “Fine, you’ve stepped me outside time, dropped into my camp, and conjured up a chair. What’s the big reveal? What’s this new cuvat thing, and why drop it on me now?”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Menolly leaned forward, the air around her faintly shimmering with an indefinable energy. “As you are aware,” she began, “your primary task—or cuvat—is survival. The Overmind is continuously assessing your adaptability as a representative of your species as a whole.”

Del’s lips quirked into a sardonic smile. “Yeah, BB’s watching me.” He tapped his temple for effect.

Her brows knitted briefly in a frown at the nickname but smoothed as quickly as it appeared. “Indeed,” she replied crisply. “And this new cuvat concerns Elara.” She glanced at the young elf before returning her gaze to Del. “Terras is a world in flux, a place of evolving tensions and shifting dynamics. This is especially true here in Gondowa. Just as your own reality experienced eras of turmoil and change, so does this one.”

Del shifted uncomfortably on the log. “Right. And how does that tie into my primary cuvat?”

Menolly’s eyes narrowed slightly, her tone firm. “The main purpose of this intervention is to prevent you from making a critical error. You cannot, under any circumstances, tell Elara—or anyone else—about where you’re from or why you’re here. Doing so would jeopardise your task and almost certainly cost you your life.”

Her words landed like a blow. Del stared at her, stunned. “What the hell am I supposed to say, then?” he demanded. “It’s not like I blend in here. Anyone with half a brain can tell I’m not from around these parts.”

Menolly’s expression softened slightly. “May I?” she asked, extending her hand toward him.

Del hesitated, his instincts screaming against trusting her. But the weight of her words left him no real choice. With a reluctant nod, he allowed her to place a hand on his head.

The rush of information that followed was overwhelming, a torrent of images and impressions that left him reeling. Del clutched at the edge of the log, his breath hitching as he tried to make sense of the flood pouring into his mind. Too fast to fully comprehend, yet somehow... it settled, imprinting itself deep in his thoughts.

“This is the Isle of Starnd,” Menolly said, her tone even as her eyes seemed to pierce right through him. “The place doesn’t exist, so you won’t meet anyone else from there. But anyone you tell of it will have either heard of it or accept what you say as real.” She smiled faintly, the gesture disarming in its simplicity. “This way, you have a background that cannot be checked or challenged but will also explain your lack of knowledge about the world at large.”

Del blinked, letting her words sink in. An entire make-believe island, woven into the fabric of this world as if it had always existed. He tilted his head, considering the implications.

‘Well, it’s better than nothing,’ he thought.

Until now, he’d had no explanation for the gaping holes in his understanding of Gondowa, no way to justify the questions that could paint him as a liability—or worse, a threat.

The name itself conjured an image in his mind, unbidden and vivid. Starnd. It sounded rugged, remote, like something pulled from a seafarer’s tale. For a moment, Del closed his eyes, letting the details take shape in his imagination.

It was an island that seemed to defy time. Jagged cliffs ringed its edges, battered endlessly by white-crested waves. The air was salt-laden, bracing and sharp, carrying the cries of seabirds that nested in the rocky crags. Inland, the land softened into rolling hills blanketed in emerald green. Patches of forest dotted the landscape, their trees ancient and gnarled, as though they had been witnesses to countless generations. A single mountain dominated the horizon, its peak shrouded in perpetual mist.

The people of Starnd were a hardy lot, he imagined, their lives shaped by the island’s isolation. They fished the bountiful waters, farmed the sparse but fertile soil, and carved out a quiet existence far from the politics and strife of the mainland. There were no elves, dwarves, or gnomes among their number—just humans, bound together by necessity and tradition. The village was small, their homes built of stone and timber, their roofs thatched to withstand the relentless sea winds.

‘Not too much detail, Del,’ he cautioned himself. ‘You’ll need enough to spin a convincing yarn if anyone asks, but don’t overdo it.’ His thoughts churned as he tried to balance plausibility with mystery.

Menolly’s gaze flicked to Elara, her expression unreadable. “Your cuvat is to help her,” she said simply, her voice cutting through his reverie. “How you do that is up to you, but she is in more danger than even she realises, and her story has yet to unfold. It is potentially something that could affect the entire dynamic of life in Gondowa—or simply lead to a life of quiet reflection and magical experimentation.”

Del followed her gaze, his eyes resting on the young elf. Elara sat motionless, her features serene, her hand still poised mid-stroke as though she had all the time in the world. Which, in this frozen moment, she did. Her vulnerability struck him anew. She might not realise the full scope of the dangers she faced, but Del had seen enough to know that this world didn’t grant second chances lightly.

He turned back to Menolly, frustration bubbling to the surface. “And that’s it?” he demanded. “Nothing more? No hints or clues as to what the actual fuck I’m supposed to do to help her?”

Menolly’s serene smile didn’t falter. “Good luck, Del. You’ll be fine.”

Before he could say another word, the chair beneath her vanished, and with it, Menolly herself. One moment she was there, as solid as the ground beneath his feet, and the next, the space she’d occupied was empty. The world around him shuddered, then spun back into motion like a clockwork toy wound too tightly.

Elara blinked, her hand resuming its gentle stroke along Misty’s fur. Misty gave a low, contented purr, casting a sidelong glance at Del as if to ask, What just happened?

Del didn’t answer. His mind was too full, the details of the Isle of Starnd swirling in his thoughts like the sea mist that he now imagined clinging to its shores. He glanced down at Misty, who had sidled up to him, brushing against his leg.

“Well, girl,” he murmured, scratching behind her ears, “I guess we’ve got ourselves a backstory. Rugged island life, salt in the air, isolation from the rest of the world. What do you think? Sound convincing enough?”

Misty blinked at him, her amber eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. Del huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I’m not sure either,” he muttered. “But it’s all we’ve got.” He glanced toward Elara again, noting the faint crease of curiosity on her brow as she focused on Misty.

‘I’ll have to be careful,’ he thought. ‘Give just enough detail to satisfy her questions without digging myself into a hole I can’t climb out of. Starnd will have to be real to me first if I’m going to sell it to anyone else.’

He let out a long breath and pushed himself to his feet, brushing the dirt from his hands. The fire crackled softly, the rhythmic song of the river returning as if nothing had changed. But everything had. The weight of Menolly’s words settled over him, heavy and unyielding. Whatever role he was meant to play in this world, it seemed to be growing more complex by the minute.